The Thought behind It
by SasuNarufan13
Summary: Harry gets plenty of gifts leading up to Valentine's day. Too bad none of them are actually thoughtful. One secret admirer might change that, however. Harry's pov; slash; Valentine's Day fic; Veela!Draco; more warnings inside
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note: I'm going to use my old trick of cutting a story in two to be able to post it on time. Because sometimes I like to cheat that way LOL More for you to read!**

**Warnings: Harry's pov; doesn't follow epilogue; slash; smidgen of drama; Veela!Draco; flashback scene**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. J.K. Rowling owns it.**

**I hope you'll like this first part! Happy Valentine's Day!**

* * *

**Part 1**

"Merlin, what is this smell? Did that Weasley brood visit here again?"

"I distinctly remember discussing with you that referring to them as a '_brood_' or implying anything negative about them is not appreciated here."

"You talked. _I_ didn't listen; I thought that was clear back then?"

Rolling his eyes, Harry turned around, facing his new client of the day. "Apologies," he drawled and crossed his arms. "I should have realised your ears were too full with feathers that day to be able to hear what I was telling you."

Grey eyes narrowed. "I feel like that can be considered speciest; not very nice of you," Draco chided him, still lingering near the doorway. His eyes had a particular silver sheen to them today, which Harry had come to associate with the blond wizard having been pissed off by someone.

"You being a dick isn't very nice of you either," Harry smiled thinly. "What's got you in a mood this afternoon?"

Draco scowled and stopped imitating a statue near the door, marching over towards the low bed. "Pansy tried asking me out again. You'd think after so many times she'd get the message," he sneered, dropping down heavily onto the mattress.

"Maybe you should give her a chance?" Harry suggested, putting the last vial with the scented oil back onto the shelf. "She might surprise you."

"Perhaps you should give that Weasley girl another chance, hm? I'm sure she can surprise you too," Draco smiled poisonously sweet; his fingers clawing around the edge of the mattress.

Harry grimaced and glowered at the other man. "Times like these remind me why I didn't like you at Hogwarts."

"Aw, did I hit a nerve?" Draco smirked, but the edges of it were tight, showing he was more bothered by Pansy's request than usual.

Sighing, Harry walked over, stopping right in front of him. "You still haven't found him or her?" he questioned, his gaze trailing over the large, bright white wings taking up the majority of the space on the bed.

The tips of them fluttered and Draco clucked his tongue. "Obviously not. If I had, I wouldn't be here now, would I?"

The dark haired man didn't let himself be deterred by the sharp tone of voice. "How bad is it?" he inquired instead, studying the rigidness of the wings with critical eyes.

"Moving them hurts and I can't keep them hidden for more than three hours at a time," Draco replied stiffly, glaring down at the floor.

Worse than usual, huh?

"Would you mind if I used one of my lotions on them? That will help with the cramping more than just a massage would," Harry suggested, going through his mental list of lotions which might be the best suited for the other man.

For a short moment it looked like Draco was about to refuse, but then he nodded resigned. The wings must be really bothering him then, if he couldn't even think of a jab aimed at Harry's potion skills.

It did tell him which lotion would be best suited, though.

After retrieving the small vial, he walked around the bed and halted behind the left wing. The feathers on this one shuddered slightly underneath his gaze and Draco hunched his shoulders somewhat.

"Let me see the lotion first," he demanded; some haughtiness returning.

Wordlessly Harry handed the vial over his shoulder once the wing lowered a bit and he heard the blond wizard audibly sniff when he removed the cork.

"Chamomile?" he asked bemused.

Harry hummed, accepting the vial after it passed Draco's inspection. "Helps with cramping muscles and it smells a lot better than most potions do. Nice scents tend to help with the relaxing process better as well," he explained.

Draco just grunted, apparently unable to find fault in that explanation, and quietened down when Harry slathered lotion on his hands before carefully running them across the left wing, cautiously seeking out the muscles and avoiding snagging at the pure white feathers. He'd rather not avoid a beak or a sharp talon at this close range. The room lapsed into silence as Harry set about deeply massaging the wings, working out the cramps and soothing the tense muscles, falling into the rhythm they both had become accustomed to by now.

To everyone's surprise – including Ron's and Hermione's, who actually might have been the most shocked out of all of them – Harry had decided against joining the Aurors three years ago. He also hadn't become a Quidditch player like many teams had been hoping for, nor a Healer as Saint Mungos had wanted, or even a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher as McGonagall had hinted at several times.

Instead he had become a massage therapist – and not just any regular one. He'd specialised himself in helping magical creatures and people who had a magical creature inheritance. For everyone else, this particular career choice seemed to have come out of the blue, but Harry remembered the days after the full moon in which Remus had barely been able to move because of how tense and cramped up his muscles had become after enduring the change. He remembered a woman in Saint Mungos, who'd been part Mer and who'd complained that her legs stiffened up so much after letting go of her tail that she couldn't move for days. The Mediwizard's response had been to prescribe a simple pain killing potion, which wouldn't have been much of a help judging by the woman's face.

It had led to Harry realising that while the medical world seemed to be fairly on point for witches and wizards in general, it usually couldn't do much for magical creatures or those with a magical creature inheritance. Somehow he had come up with the idea to become a massage therapist then, wanting to do something useful for a community who mostly was ignored by the Wizarding society.

A lot of people had laughed straight into his face when he'd explained why he wanted to learn certain massage techniques. Others had declared him crazy for wanting to do something that might not even have a chance of succeeding, so new was his particular field. There had been others still, trying to persuade him to drop his decision and enter their field instead as a regular Healer.

He hadn't listened to any of them. He'd shouldered through the regular massage lessons, then had followed classes which studied the anatomy of magical creatures in more detail than they had covered during their Care of Magical Creatures classes. He'd learnt how to adapt his massage techniques to suit the specific needs of his clients and had studied Herbology in more depth in order to apply that knowledge to create lotions which would help relax his clients even further.

It had been a lot of hard work and a lot of long days spent studying the subjects he thought he could incorporate in his new profession, but two years later had seen him opening his own business. The magical creature community had been wary of his profession at first and he'd spent more time reviewing his notes and adjusting lotions the first four months than actually treating clients.

But then Leia, a woman with a lot of influence in the community and who Harry suspected possessed the Succubus heritage even if she had never confirmed what she actually was, had followed a series of sessions with him and from then on, he started to get more clients. He could only assume that Leia had been so happy with his work that she had spread word about his business, ensuring that the others were aware that Harry actually knew what he was doing.

He didn't blame them for doubting his skills or his intentions, though. Considering how some of them had been treated in the past by Healers or Mediwizards and Mediwitches, they had every right to be suspicious when his business was established.

He couldn't complain about his clientele now, though. Now he sometimes had barely any time to do some reading, all because so many people had flocked to his business, requesting his help.

Giving the right wing one last firm squeeze, ignoring the light shudder travelling through Draco's body, he stepped away and swiped a towel from the nearby cabinet to remove the excess of lotion.

"Feeling better?" Harry requested, studying the wings from a small distance now.

He nodded. The tips of the wings drooped now, the rest of the large appendages resting limply along Draco's back. He wasn't sure how long the reprieve would last this time, but at least for now he'd managed to massage the cramps and the tenseness out of the muscles.

"Yeah, you've done your magic once again," Draco muttered, sounding half delirious, half asleep.

Harry hid a smile, secretly proud that his massaging techniques were that good that it managed to even make the uptight Malfoy sleepy and relaxed. That was not an easy feat, he knew, because Draco liked to be in control at all times. As a matter of fact, Harry still hadn't completely got over the shock of Draco willingly visiting him over and over again in an attempt to relieve him from the pain.

"I'd say I'd love to see you again, but that would be bad form in my business," he said cheekily, walking over to the sink to wash his hands properly. He'd used some simple Cleaning Charms in the beginning, but they never managed to give him that clean feeling that real water did.

"You caring about bad form? Now that would be a first," Draco snorted, a bit more awake now.

"You're sure you want to insult the only one who can help you out?" Harry asked mildly, drying off his hands.

"Please, like your hero-complex would allow you to let me suffer when I show up next time," Draco smirked and got off the table, ruffling his wings a little. He flapped them twice, sending several papers flying off the desk, and then they disappeared, leaving him looking like any other regular wizard.

Harry had yet to figure out whether the wings were somehow completely absorbed in Draco's back or whether they just turned invisible.

"_If_ you show up next time," he corrected the blond, raising an eyebrow. "When you find a suitable partner, you won't need my help anymore."

He refrained from using the word '_services_'; he'd only uttered that word once before, but Draco had spent the entire session finding ways to make the word sound as dubious as possible. He wasn't going to give him that kind of ammo again.

"Sure, if I find someone," Draco said amiably and was gone before Harry could react to that.

He sighed and shook his head. "Whatever. I'm not that kind of therapist," he muttered and started preparing for his last appointment.

* * *

When he started his business, he'd never expected to count Draco Malfoy as one of his clients. Why would he have? They didn't run in the same circles and frankly, Harry hadn't expected to ever see him again after returning his wand. The war was over and they didn't attend Hogwarts anymore; there had been no reason for them to ever see each other again, except for in passing perhaps.

Two years after he'd established his therapy business, one D.M. had written him a request for a first session, mentioning aching muscles and a growing inability to properly turn his head. At that moment Harry hadn't thought anything special of it. People only using their initials to sign off for an appointment weren't that rare, especially if they were rather well known and preferred to keep their privacy.

It had been four years since the war had ended and he hadn't thought about the Malfoy family in all those years. He'd agreed to give D.M. a session and they had settled on a date and an hour.

When the day had come for D.M. to finally show up, Harry had nearly slammed the door shut in his face when he realised just who his new client was. He'd actually considered refusing to help him, because it wasn't like they had been on the best of terms to begin with, but a part of him had pointed out that wouldn't be fair to the other man. Clearly the sore muscles had been bothering the Malfoy heir enough to actually seek out his former school nemesis, so Harry had figured the least he could do was hear him out and give the session a chance.

The first session had been quite enlightening. As it turned out Malfoy was a Veela; his heritage having kicked in a day after his eighteenth birthday. They hadn't been certain whether he'd inherited the Veela gene, as it had bypassed both his parents and his grandparents, but obviously nature had other plans for the sole heir.

For three years there hadn't been any real issue to speak of, the Veela side lying dormant the entire time. As time passed, however, and Malfoy didn't find anyone to be his partner, his Veela grew restless. Veela weren't meant to be alone for the rest of their lives; the longer they went without a romantic partner, the more their body started protesting. It started with small twinges here and there at first, the type you felt if you made a wrong move. Those small twinges then turned into aching bones and cramping, tense muscles; the pain and misery growing gradually worse.

Malfoy had tried everything from charms to spells to potions, but none of them relieved the pain. Harry's business had been his last chance at finally getting some relief.

As soon as Malfoy had finished his explanation, his wings had popped into view as if he had no longer been able to restrain them, knocking over the chair and slamming a cabinet down. Harry couldn't say he had Veela as clients before; as a matter of fact the only Veela he knew was Fleur, Bill's wife, and she definitely didn't suffer from any debilitating pain.

While a part of him had rebelled against the thought of helping out Malfoy, remembering all too clearly the bullying and the taunts that had transpired in Hogwarts, a larger part couldn't refuse the other man. He'd made a vow to help his clients to the best of his abilities, no matter who they were – if that included his ex-school enemy, so be it.

The first sessions had been rather … awkward. Harry tended to either listen to music during his sessions with clients who preferred not to talk or just talked with them while relieving them from their pain. Malfoy had rejected the idea of music before Harry had even been able to suggest a genre they could both agree on, but he'd also refused to say anything. As a result, their first five sessions had been spent in absolute, awkward silence.

Until Ron's owl had arrived during their sixth session and Malfoy had been unable to keep his sneering comments about the Weasleys to himself. That had ended in him and Harry having a huge shouting match which had almost turned into an actual duel before Malfoy had stormed out of his practice enraged – after shrieking so loudly that the windows had shattered and Harry's eardrums had nearly been destroyed.

Veela definitely had a flair for drama. No wonder Bill was so willing to agree with everything Fleur said or did.

After that Harry had thought he wouldn't see Malfoy ever again. Sure enough, a month had passed by without the blond wizard showing up on his doorstep, demanding another sessions.

But then, at the end of June, a house elf had suddenly shown up in Harry's office, scaring the hell out of him.

"_Master Harry Potter needs to be comings with me now!" the house elf demanded shrilly, wrangling his long, flappy ears in his knobby hands._

"_What? Where? Whose house elf are you?" Harry asked mystified, but snatched his wand off his desk nevertheless, trying to recall whether he knew anyone personally who kept house elves._

"_Master Draco Malfoy is requestings your helps, Master Harry Potter, sir!" the elf tittered, his huge, dark brown eyes glistening wetly in the dying sunlight. "You is needings to be comings with me now!"_

"_Malfoy?" he muttered bemused. Why would Malfoy be needing his help? He hadn't seen the bastard in more than a month. What, did he think Harry was just going to drop everything for his poncey arse all because he suddenly needed help?_

"_Please, Master Harry Potter, sir, is very urgent!"_

"_All right, all right, already!" he hastily agreed, not wanting to deal with a wailing house elf on top of the long day he'd had already. "I'll go to Malfoy Manor. That's where he's staying, right?"_

_But the house elf shook his head. "No, I is takings you with me, Master Harry Potter, sir!"_

_The small being snatched his hand before he could react and the next second, he was lurched forwards it felt like, the world spinning so fast around him he had to close his eyes or risk being sick. When his feet touched ground next, he nearly fell forwards; his balance blasted to shit after that very uncomfortable way of travelling. It was odd; Dobby had taken him and his friends out of this manor during the war and back then the transport hadn't felt that uncomfortable._

_Or maybe he just had had other things on his mind back then, which had distracted him._

"_You is needing to help Master Draco Malfoy!" the elf insisted urgently, rushing towards a black door. He pushed it open, but remained standing near the entrance, bowing so deeply there was no way that position could be comfortable._

_Still baffled as to what was going on exactly, Harry moved forwards, ignoring the curious looks of the Malfoy ancestors in the paintings._

_The room he walked into was cloaked in various shades of darkness; the only glimpse of light coming through a small gap in the long drapes._

"_Lumos," he murmured and inhaled sharply when the sharp glow revealed what the sunlight had been too weak to show._

_Malfoy was curled up onto a large bed, his head tucked against his chest and his arms wrapped tightly around his legs. His wings were out, and folded in a weird position, lying criss-cross over each other as if they were frozen like that. The Veela laid there so unnaturally still that Harry feared for a moment that he'd come too late and Malfoy had died._

_Then he saw him inhaling, the motion barely noticeable, and the grimace etched onto his face deepened, as if breathing hurt him somehow._

"_Malfoy?" Harry whispered, for some reason not daring to raise his voice._

_Malfoy didn't say anything, save for squeezing his eyes shut. His whole form radiated so much tenseness that it was starting to hurt Harry's _own_ muscles to look at him._

_Tense muscles – it couldn't be …_

_In just a couple of long strides he was next to the bed and bent down, holding his wand to the side so he wouldn't blind the other man with the bright light. "How bad is the cramping?" he demanded._

_Malfoy just clenched his teeth, not answering him._

_Harry thought for a moment, trying to figure out how he should proceed. If the pain was worse than before, he would need the extra help of his lotions to be able to help Malfoy; just a simple massage didn't look like it would suffice now._

"_Okay, I need you to do something for me now," Harry said, keeping his voice calm and low. "If this pain is worse than anything you've experienced before, open your eyes now."_

_Eyelids trembled heavily, but then silver, almost luminous orbs locked onto his, burning brightly, and Harry swallowed, nodding. All right, so worse than before._

"_I'm going to try to help you, but I'm going to have to use some of my own lotions on you. A regular massage isn't likely to help you now," he warned him. "Do I have your permission to send one of your house elves to my office to grab them?"_

_The nod was so miniscule Harry would have missed it if he hadn't been staring at Malfoy intently._

"_Okay, I'll be right back." He went to turn around and go to the hallway where hopefully that elf would still be waiting, but an odd, muffled whimper stopped him in his tracks and he swiftly turned around, surprised._

_Malfoy was still in the same position, but long, sharp claws had overtaken his human fingers and one of them was lifted towards Harry; desperation lurking in bright silver eyes._

_In spite of the fight they had had last time, Harry softened and he bent back down, murmuring, "I'll be right back, I promise. I'm just going to tell one of your house elves quickly what I need them to get and then I'll be back. I'm not going anywhere."_

_The desperation didn't dim, but the claw lowered again. It didn't disappear, however, and Harry had a feeling that wouldn't happen until he'd sorted out the mess that Malfoy's muscles had become in the span of less than a month and a half._

_He hurried to the hallway, where the same house elf was still lurking about, and after giving him the list of lotions he needed, he went back to Malfoy immediately, rolling up his sleeves._

"_This is probably going to hurt even more in the beginning, but bear with me, okay?"_

_He thought Malfoy would have made some sarcastic quip to that, but he remained silent, seemingly in too much pain to even move his eyes. Pressing his lips together, Harry kicked off his shoes and climbed onto the bed, steeling himself for what was going to be a very long night._

_It took him the better part of the evening to get the wings to finally bend and relax completely; the muscles in them as taut as a string. Even with the heavy duty lotions he'd come up with, it took him a long time to work out the kinks in the wings and to get them to lie flat against the bed. They didn't disappear, but Harry didn't take the time to wonder whether that was because Malfoy was in still too much pain to retract them._

_As soon as the last muscle in the right wing turned as flexible as the rest, Harry turned his attention to the rest of Malfoy's body, keeping up a steady stream of chatting about non-sensical subjects, like the last match between the Falcons and the Cannons or how the Weasley twins were developing a new range of sweets but were being mysterious about it, refusing to give any sort of information._

_He talked about the upcoming Minister elections, about how Hermione was patiently waiting for Ron to get his shit together and propose to her, refusing to do it herself. He shared stories about his godson and the trouble he tended to land in if he remained unsupervised for even a little bit._

_By the time Harry finally finished up, his throat was raw from all the talking he'd done and his eyes burnt with the lack of sleep. Merlin knew how late – or early – in the morning it was already._

_But he'd succeeded. Malfoy was no longer a coiled up, tense mess, but sprawled across the bed, looking exhausted but relaxed; his wings draped limply over the edges of the mattress._

"_You're an idiot," Harry couldn't resist telling him, sighing deeply. He slipped off the mattress and groaned when he stretched his arms, his back and neck protesting from the bent position he'd been in for the better part of the night._

"_Right back at you, Potter," Malfoy mumbled tiredly._

"_Don't wait until you're a mess to call in my help," Harry said; a note of irritation slipping into his voice even though he tried to hide it._

_It was difficult not to be annoyed with the blond man, though, when the idiot had clearly waited too long to come to him for help. Who knew how bad he would have fared if his house elf hadn't gone to Harry for assistance?_

_Malfoy mumbled something too low for him to understand, so he snapped, "What?"_

"_I said, I didn't think you'd still want me as a client," Malfoy repeated stiffly; his gaze fixated on the ceiling._

"_What? Because of the fight?"_

_Malfoy remained silent._

"_You're a pain in the arse, Malfoy, but I'm not going to turn you away if you need my help," Harry said wearily, rubbing his face. His eyes felt gritty and he wanted nothing more than to drop down in his bed and sleep for a very long time. "Just so we're clear, though: next time you even think about insulting my friends, you won't even get the chance to do your dramatic exit, you bloody drama queen."_

_He didn't wait for a reply and left._

That night had been a catalyst. When Malfoy had shown up two weeks later, they had started talking about the new shops in Diagon Alley while Harry massaged the cramps out of his neck and shoulders.

They kept talking about everything that popped up in their minds and along the way they had gone from _Potter _and _Malfoy_ to _Harry_ and _Draco_. Harry wouldn't say they were really friends, but there was an ease to their interactions now which hadn't been there before.

Hermione and Ron didn't know about Draco. Even though Harry was not a Healer or even a Mediwizard, he took patient confidentiality – even in his business – very serious and so he never confided in them who his patients were. Oh, they knew he treated all kinds of magical creatures, of course, and Hermione was definitely fascinated by the broad range of species he was able to meet because of his job, but they didn't know the specifics. Harry didn't tell them and they didn't pry.

Sometimes, though, Harry wondered what they would say if they knew that he was on such good terms with Draco now.

Probably declare him insane – and he wouldn't blame them for that. Morgana knew he sometimes questioned how his life had turned out this way.

* * *

"I thought the time of giving presents had long since passed?"

Draco's non-sequitur comment had Harry frowning for a moment, his hands halting until the blond made a protesting noise. Rolling his eyes, Harry resumed massaging the base of the right wing, squeezing firmly into it.

Batting some feathers out of his face, he realised the cause of Draco's strange question. "Just idiots who think they can get a head start on Valentine's Day," he grumbled, glowering when he was reminded of the stack of presents he'd dumped into the garbage bin. He was still trying to decide whether he should give those gifts to charity or just incinerate them.

One would think after four years of refusing gifts from all those people, they would get the hint.

"Nothing in them that was to your liking?" Draco smirked, humming when Harry hit a good spot with the heel of his left palm.

"Please," Harry snorted derisively. "It's just dumb stuff given to me by people who don't know me at all. If they really liked me, they would put some more effort into their presents."

"High maintenance, are we? I thought I was the one with high standards here?" Draco chuckled lowly.

"I don't call not wanting a dozen of Seeker Weekly subscriptions being high maintenance," Harry retorted dryly, leaving the right wing alone and switching to the left one. "Nor not wanting twenty-five pieces of treacle tart. It's my favourite dessert, yes, but if that's all they know about me …" He shook his head and clucked his tongue.

"Call me high maintenance, but I want someone who's actually really interested in me and not my fame or my name, and who actually goes to the trouble of getting me thoughtful gifts. Is that so much to ask for?" he complained frustrated. "I think I'm being fairly reasonable here."

"You're expecting thoughtfulness from your empty-brained fans?" Draco smirked. "Now that's not being reasonable, Harry, that's just being stupid."

"Yeah, yeah, turn around so that I can get a better look at the bottom of your wing," Harry grumbled.

Just four more weeks until Valentine's Day was over and the stream of gifts would finally stop.

Just four more long, very long weeks.

* * *

He'd just sat down to enjoy his breakfast on Saturday when a Great Horned Owl landed on the windowsill, staring at him with large, piercing eyes.

"Now where do you come from?" he asked bemused and stood up to open the window.

The owl hopped onto the counter, holding out his paw regally. As soon as Harry had accepted the small box, the owl hooted softly and jumped back onto the windowsill. It spread its large wings and soared away into the grey sky, clearly being told not to wait for a reply.

Eyes furrowing, Harry stared down at the dark blue package, wondering warily whether it was yet another thoughtless gift from someone who thought they could woo the Great Harry Potter.

"Better get it over with," he sighed, figuring he could away give or throw it away later on.

After casting a couple of spells to make sure it didn't contain anything dangerous – one close call with almost being doused in Love Potion had been enough to make him wary of all unknown packages – he ripped the paper away and plopped off the lid.

His mouth dropped open in surprise when a dark leather wand holster greeted him; the material feeling flexible and soft when he picked it up. There were runes stitched into the leather and his limited knowledge told him they were meant to provide extra protection, ensuring his wand wouldn't get lost or stolen.

This type of wand holsters – ones carrying strong runes – were incredibly rare. He'd actually considered getting one of them, but had dismissed the idea, because it wasn't like he was an Auror or even a Duellist; professions in which holsters like these could come in handy.

Still, while he'd decided not to get one, he'd always thought it would have been very nice to have one, just in case.

Still marvelling about the holster, his eyes fell on a little note still left in the box.

'_I hope you'll enjoy your gift. You look like you would appreciate one like this._

_Your Secret Admirer'_

Secret Admirer, hm? Now that was intriguing.

Someone had actually sent him a nice, useful gift; his interest was piqued for the first time in years.

Just who was this Secret Admirer?

* * *

**AN2: So what do you think of this first part? Figured I'd go for something else than Auror!Harry or even Duellist!Harry LOL**

**Please leave your thoughts behind in a review; should you spot any mistakes, please point them out to me.**

**I hope to see you all back in the second part!**

**Cuddles**

**Melissa**

**P.S. For more information about my upcoming and posted stories, please visit my profile.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's note: I finally got around to finishing the last part. I'm really sorry for the delay, guys; I never meant take this long to finish this twoshot, but university and stuff in real life has been kicking my butt so far. But well, at least you didn't have to wait a month? ^^;**

**Thanks to the following reviewers: imatoiletpaper; North of the North; Shebajay; Alirrae; Rori Potter; Starwings2Night; Yana5; Guest (Harry isn't a creature in this; sorry for the confusion); skyglazingMaro; MirrorFlower and DarkWind; The arithmancer; AlexiaMximo; babyvfan; TheBeauty; SehunsBae37; shruthy1994  
I'm so glad to see several of my long time reviewers back! :D  
**

**Warnings: Fluff basically. That's it. Fluff.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. J.K. Rowling owns it.**

**I hope you'll like this last part!**

* * *

**Part 2**

Barely a week later he received a second gift from his secret admirer. This time it wasn't something as complicated as a rune engraved wand holster, but that didn't make the present less meaningful. It was a bouquet of pure white lilies with a single deep red one inserted into the middle.

The card with it read, '_Perhaps this would have been more suited for your mother, but I hope you'll appreciate these flowers nonetheless_. _Your Secret Admirer_'

It wasn't as if this admirer was the first one to give him a present with a reference to one of Harry's parents. The majority of them focused on his eyes, giving him an object that resembled the green colour of his eyes. After being told so many times in which aspect he looked like his mother, it had become a bit tiring to receive gifts all focused on that specific colour. Sure, it was nice to know he resembled his mother with a part of his looks, but he didn't need more than a hundred green gems to be reminded of that constantly.

So no, gifts with references to his parents weren't rare, more like ten a penny even. Nobody had ever thought to send him lilies, however, even if one should assume that would have been an obvious choice if people wanted to flatter him with his parents' memory. Perhaps they thought he wouldn't appreciate flowers, because he was a man, which was quite frankly a ridiculous assumption. What did gender have to do with being able to appreciate flowers?

Gently he brushed his right index finger across the silky smooth surface of a red petal, wondering absently whether the red colour of the single lily was a reference to his mother's brilliant red hair.

Whoever this person was who had sent him this gift and the previous one, they obviously had done their homework quite well – a lot better than the other people sending him gifts.

Ignoring the pile of other presents he'd received, he picked up the bouquet and went to search for a vase, humming softly to himself.

* * *

He didn't take a lot of vacation days, something which his best friends often lamented about, insisting he needed to relax more instead of always being busy with his practice. Coming from Hermione who tended to work even longer hours a day than Harry did, that was quite rich, but she always shot back that at least she granted herself leave for at least three weeks a year; something Harry didn't.

He didn't see a point in going on a holiday which lasted for weeks, though. He loved doing his job and unlike his exaggerating friends, he did take off most of the weekends, unless there was a dire emergency requesting his immediate help. Otherwise the weekends were reserved for his friends and for Andromeda and Teddy.

There were a couple of days in the year that he absolutely refused to accept appointments on, however; dates he wouldn't budge on at all. One of those days was the thirtieth of January.

The gravel crunched underneath his shoes when he made his way between the rows of graves; the sky overcast but not ready to release a torrent of rain – yet. Some of the graves had started leaning towards one side, the ground sinking in slowly underneath the weight of the tombs. There was nobody else but him present in the graveyard at the moment, which wasn't really surprising considering it was early on a Thursday morning and most people would be at work right now.

He liked being the only one here; in spite of this being a place primarily made up out of the dead, the atmosphere was quite serene, peaceful even, and he unwound a bit, his shoulders relaxing and letting go of the tension he hadn't been quite aware had gathered there. A self-proclaimed fan had accosted him last night when he'd been saying his goodbyes to Hermione and Ron after having gone out for dinner; the woman clamping onto his arm and flirting heavily with him, despite the fact that he'd been quite clear that he wasn't interested at all.

It had taken Hermione icily proclaiming she would sue the woman for harassment if she didn't let go that very instant and disappeared immediately – only said in much less nice words, because Hermione wasn't one to mince her language at all when one of her friends was being harassed – for the woman to finally scamper off with fire red cheeks.

The encounter with the woman would have been merely a blimp, a brief flash of irritation, nothing else, if his day hadn't already been filled with three difficult cases and he hadn't had to spend nearly two hours and a half talking down a patient from her panic attack. That wasn't to say he'd been annoyed with the panic attack – nobody liked having those and he hadn't minded at all helping the woman with hers – but the whole day overall had definitely drained him by the time he'd met up with his friends. The situation with the clingy fan had just been the icing on the cake.

Here at the graveyard now, surrounded with nothing but peaceful silence, he felt himself relax; able to leaving the stress of yesterday behind him.

He halted for a particular white gravestone and smiled softly. "Hey, mum, happy birthday," he murmured, placing a small bouquet of yellow tulips on the grave. "Been a while since I last was here, huh?"

His gaze glided towards the tombstone on the right. This one was made of the same marble as the tombstone of his parents; the text simple yet meaningful.

_Mischief Managed_

_Sirius Black_

_B. 03/11/1959_

_D. 18/06/1996_

There wasn't a body buried here, of course. The Veil at the Ministry of Magic had made sure Harry didn't have anything of his godfather to bury. He'd paid for a gravestone nonetheless, ordering it to be placed right next to the one of his parents. There had been some protest about that at first. Some people were appalled that he would dare to put his parents' traitor right next to their grave, while others – Purebloods mainly – protested that the stone should have been placed with the rest of the Black family, like was expected of a Pureblood member.

Harry had ignored them all. It was none of their business where he put his godfather's last resting place. They hadn't cared about Sirius when he'd still been alive, so why did they think they had a right to an opinion now that he was dead?

They could fuck right off, all of them.

"So my business has been doing well," he said, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "More and more people are starting to trust that I won't screw up helping them. If this keeps up, I might actually have to hire someone else in the future to help me out."

He talked for a long time, telling his parents and Sirius about what Ron and Hermione had been up to, about the pranks the Weasley twins were developing, about McGonagall inviting him over to Hogwarts to teach a DADA lesson. He told them about Teddy and his stubborn fixation on convincing both his godfather and his grandmother that he was old enough by now to ride Harry's Firebolt.

He talked until he fell silent and then he just stood there, gazing at their tombstones, listening to the bare branches creaking when the wind played with them; dead leaves rustling past him.

Soon he became aware of eyes resting on him and when he turned his head, he was surprised to see Draco standing a bit further down the path, gazing at him with intense grey eyes.

Frowning, Harry turned around fully and asked, "What are you doing here?"

Godric's Hollow wasn't anywhere near Malfoy Manor and it would shock Harry if any Malfoy had been buried here. Draco's presence here didn't make any sense at all.

"I was curious why you were so insistent on not having any appointments today so I decided to follow you," Draco answered frankly; his hands resting into the pockets of a long, royal blue coat. At least he'd had the good sense to dress more inconspicuous. "I remembered you refused this particular date the previous years as well."

Harry thought he would be angry at having been followed, but instead all he felt was weary amusement. "You could have just asked, you know," he pointed out. "No need to follow me around for this."

"True, but how would I know whether you'd have told me the truth?" Draco shrugged, wandering closer. His eyes flitted between the two tombstones. "So this was the whole outrage about a couple of years ago," he mentioned idly.

Harry followed his gaze to Sirius' grave. "You're here to tell me how much of a disgrace I am for not respecting Pureblood culture?" he asked dryly, crossing his arms.

The blond man shrugged again. "I never knew him; mother never talked about him. From what I know, though, I'd say he'd feel a million times better being buried here than with the rest of his family." He smirked. "I have a feeling the rest of the Blacks would agree with that."

The dark haired man huffed out a short laugh. "Yeah, I suppose they would," he agreed, thinking back to the screaming portrait of Mrs. Black.

"I'm surprised your friends aren't here with you," Draco remarked casually, side-eyeing him.

"What would be the point?" Harry said calmly. "I don't visit their dead relatives either."

Draco inclined his head. "You stay here the whole day and talk to them?"

"Not the whole day." Harry shook his head, letting his arms rest at his sides. "But yeah, I talk to them for a bit, keep them updated about my life. I know it's stupid, because they're long gone, but - "

"Not stupid at all," Draco murmured; his gaze growing distant for a couple of seconds. "Nothing wrong with talking to your loved ones, even if they're long gone."

"Yeah …" Harry breathed out slowly; hooking his thumbs behind the loops of his jeans. "Sometimes I wish there was a way for them to talk back, you know? Even if it was just once, it would be nice …" he trailed off, staring unseeingly at Lily's and James' gravestone.

He'd talked to them before, one during his fourth year and then when he'd been about to walk into the Forbidden Forest, on his way to meet Voldemort. But that wasn't the same as actually being able to talk to them, he thought. Those previous times had only happened because he'd been in danger or had been about to walk into danger. He hadn't been able to really talk to them like he'd wanted to so much.

Oh, he supposed he could use the Resurrection Stone; the blasted thing would definitely be eager enough for it, but he wasn't about the mess with one of the Hallows again. Certainly not the Resurrection Stone, which might arguably be one of the most dangerous ones of the three.

Shaking his head, he turned his back to the graves. "Come on, let's go before the clouds decide it's time to release all the rain they've been storing up the past few days."

Draco looked up at the sky and pulled a face at how dark it looked. "Sounds like a good plan," he announced, easily falling into step with Harry. "You're feeling up for some company during lunch or not?"

Harry thought about it and was tempted to say yes, but days like today he preferred being on his own. "No sorry," he said regretfully, "I'd rather be alone today if you don't mind."

"Suit yourself," Draco murmured, but the hand he rested on Harry's arm at the graveyard's entrance was warm; the soft squeeze he gave settling something within Harry.

Before Harry could say something else, Draco Apparated, leaving him standing alone in front of the gates.

* * *

It was only much later when he was at home, listening to the rain battering against the windows that he realised that Draco had only approached him when he already had finished talking to his family.

* * *

The last two weeks leading up to Valentine's Day had package after package showing up to the point where owls had to wait in long queues for Harry to free them of their presents. Ron and Hermione even came over every morning to help him with the amount of them, sorting them into piles of _'Straight into the trash or burn them, I don't care'_ and '_Useful to donate'_.

Present after present disappeared into the two piles depending on their content, taking up way too much of Harry's time than he would have liked. If he didn't deal with the presents when they arrived, however, there was a good chance he wouldn't be able to enter his kitchen if the gifts kept piling up.

Dealing with the abundance of gifts had become a yearly tradition by now, something he went through almost robotically. Brain switched off and dumping the presents into their corresponding pile – a state he always found himself in during this time of the year.

Unlike all the previous years however, this time he couldn't help but keep an eye out for a certain type of handwriting. His Secret Admirer had only sent him two packages so far, but those two presents had been so thoughtful that it had piqued Harry's interest. For the first time since this avalanche of gifts had started, he found himself hoping to get another one of his mysterious admirer, anticipating which thoughtful present he'd be given next.

It was a weird feeling to have, considering he normally wasn't interested in the people clamouring for his attention by giving him presents. Somehow this person was different, though, intriguing him with the effort they'd put into their presents so far. He had no clue whether it was a woman or a man, but he caught himself wondering several times when he would get to meet them.

Unlike all the other people sending him presents, however, this Secret Admirer didn't put any time or date when he would like to meet Harry. It made him question whether this person was somehow really shy. But why start 'courting' him – for a lack of a better word – if they didn't want to meet him? That didn't make much sense.

Or was he being too impatient now? Perhaps he was pinning his hopes too much on one person. For all he knew this person could be an annoying twat or even a bigot or turn out to be worse than some of his more '_intense_' fans.

Somehow he didn't think that was the case, though. Someone who went through the effort of putting so much thought in their presents could hardly be a bad person.

* * *

He didn't receive any presents from his Secret Admirer until two days before Valentine's Day.

It didn't arrive until well into the evening; the owl catching him right before he went upstairs to go to bed. The owl was perched regally on the windowsill outside, having located him in the living room. It hooted softly when Harry opened the window, hopping inside and holding out its leg immediately.

"Well, what do we have here?" Harry murmured, freeing the owl from its burden. His stomach performed several flips in excitement when he recognised the fine handwriting on the card attached to the package.

Very eager to enlarge and open the gift, he had just enough presence of mind to give the owl some treats, who hooted almost cheerfully before jumping outside and spreading his wings, sailing off into the dark sky. For a couple of seconds the owl looked like a small spot against the half full moon before darkness completely swallowed it up.

Quickly he closed the window and plopped down onto the couch; every last trace of sleepiness having promptly disappeared as anticipation for the new gift filled him. He was behaving ridiculously, he knew. This person had only sent him two gifts so far, but those presents had intrigued him so much that he couldn't help but want to know what kind of thoughtful gift this person had come up with next. He really should find a way to figure out who this mysterious person was; even if there was no actual romantic click when they met in real life, he would at least be able to thank them for being so thoughtful.

After enlarging the package, he weighed it carefully in his hand. The square box covered nearly both his hands from view and whatever was inside of it wasn't that light, but not terribly heavy either. Forgoing the card for now, he placed the small, cream coloured box on the table in front of him and carefully removed the lid.

He blinked several times rapidly when he got a good look at the content. He could only stare at it bemused, completely befuddled as to what it was exactly – or well, more precisely what it was supposed to _do_.

It was some type of rock, perhaps some kind of gemstone, but if so Harry didn't have the faintest clue which one exactly it was. It was a matted marble white with smudges of grey and light blue and golden streaks. The rock was flat and rounded, around an inch thick, and there was a large hole in the middle of it. The hole didn't look hacked out; the edges and insides were smooth as if the rock had naturally formed with a hole inside of it.

What was it supposed to do? Was it meant to be some sort of decoration?

Completely baffled, he turned his attention to the card for now, hoping there would be some kind of explanation written inside of it.

'_Stones like this one are hard to find; some say you might only have one chance in your entire life to find one. As you obviously noticed, I managed to have that chance._

_You might be wondering why I would gift it to you instead, if stones like these are rare ones. That is because I decided you could use it more than I ever could. This particular stone is not only rare to find, but it also has a very rare ability: if you hold it up to the sky on Halloween and use the spell "_Cara Mihi Loquere_" you will be able to talk to the ones you lost to the afterlife._

_It only works during Halloween unfortunately, because the veil between our world and theirs is at its thinnest then, allowing contact to be made. It's not a Dark spell, in case you're worried about that. It is quite old, however, and only works with a type of stone like this one._

_I hope I'm not overstepping any boundaries with this gift; I just thought you might like the opportunity to talk to your family._

_Your Secret Admirer'_

Harry sat there staring at the card for a long time before he looked at the stone again. It gleamed innocently in the weak light of the fireplace, belying its importance. A stone he could use to talk to his parents again … A stone which would allow him to talk to Sirius again, tell him all the things he wished he could have said when he was still alive. Something which could connect him to Remus, show him how big Teddy had become already.

It was something he never thought he would have; not after having decided to never use the Resurrection Stone again. But here it was: a way for him to talk to his family again.

How had his admirer guessed that this –

All at once the pieces of the puzzle connected in his mind and he finally realised who his secret admirer was.

_Of course, how could he have been this oblivious?_

* * *

"I bet you're going to be happy once Friday is over and the avalanche of gifts will stop for a while," Draco smirked, humming absently when Harry started kneading the lower part of his right wing, where the wing connected to his back.

"I bet the charities will be disappointed," Harry muttered, focusing on keeping his voice nonchalant and his hands steady.

Draco was his final client of today; a very last minute appointment when the Veela couldn't stand the aching pain any longer.

"You got any special plans for tomorrow?" Harry inquired casually, straightening out some feathers carefully.

"To Pansy's utmost regret, no," Draco answered dryly. "Not for a lack of trying on her part, though. If only she would have applied this same persistence in studying Potions then she wouldn't have annoyed Snape that much."

Harry hummed, focusing all his attention on a particular stubborn knot in the wing.

It was quiet for a couple of minutes before the blond man stirred slightly. "And you? Has one of your many admirers managed to capture your attention long enough to deem them worthy of your time?" he questioned teasingly, arching his back lightly when Harry accidentally brushed his hand across his back.

"Hm, well, there is one in particular who stands out," Harry murmured, smiling faintly when he felt Draco still underneath his hands. He went on as if he hadn't noticed his remark had snatched the Veela's full attention, "Very thoughtful this one. Didn't send me that many gifts compared to some of the others, but the ones they did send … Those really showed they had put a lot of effort in them."

"Did you like those gifts then?" If Draco was aiming for a casual tone, he'd shot straight past it with how strangled his voice sounded instead.

"I really do actually," Harry replied lightly, running his fingers gently through the pure white feathers. "I didn't think I would, given my experience with other presents from admirers, but these gifts were something else. I kept them, which should be quite telling I think. Didn't I mention before how I normally either throw the gifts away or donate them."

"Yeah, you might have mentioned something like that." Draco jerked his head down in a nod; his shoulders oddly tense for someone who was receiving a relaxing massage.

"Yeah, so I kept these, because I really like them. Couldn't get myself to throw them away, because they're some of the most amazing gifts I've ever received," Harry said cheerfully. "Too bad they've remained anonymous so far."

"Why? You're thinking of going on a date with them?"

If the Veela became any tenser, he'd undo all the hard work Harry had put in him so far.

"You know, I actually might," Harry mused aloud; his touch turning light and airy, the massaging movements slowly transforming into something akin to a caress. "They've really got me intrigued now with their thoughtful presents."

"Ah. Even when you don't know who it is?"

The dark haired man shrugged. "That's what the date would be for, no? Getting to know each other better. I mean, they can't be that awful, considering how thoughtful their presents were."

"Right."

Harry occupied himself with running his hands gently over the wing; the appendage trapped between his palms. He was careful not to rub against the feathers, but couldn't resist lightly tugging at some of them. Each light, barely there tug had Draco twitching and Harry gazed at the back of Draco's head amused, contemplating whether he should end the Veela's misery or not.

In the end he decided he would, if only because Draco seemed content to impersonate a statue for the time being. A statue who still twitched and fluttered his wings with every light touch of Harry, but a statue nonetheless.

"I know it's you," he broke the silence, watching the other man freeze. "I admit I didn't have the faintest clue at first, but your third gift allowed me to put all the pieces together. You're the only one I ever told I'd like to talk to my family again and yesterday I received a gift that will allow me to do exactly that. I admit I can be rather oblivious, but even I stop being so oblivious with such an obvious gift." He smiled wryly.

He waited, but when Draco didn't say anything, he asked, "What was your endgame with this? Were you ever planning on telling me you were the one sending me those gifts?"

Draco shrugged stiffly. "Eventually, when I was absolutely certain you wouldn't reject me."

"How long?"

Draco didn't ask what he meant. "More than a year already. Or hell, maybe even before." He huffed, running a hand through his hair; an obvious sign of how agitated he was right now. "Who knows? Maybe this whole thing developed during Hogwarts; all I know is that it got way worse more than a year ago."

"The massages never help for long because you don't have a mate," Harry muttered, crossing his arms and frowning. "You couldn't have confessed earlier? You fucked up your muscles for no reason!"

That had Draco whirling around and snapping, "No reason? Oh yes, like I was just going to confess out of the blue to you that I'm interested in you! That would have gone oh so bloody marvellous! Are you that thick, Potter?"

"You're calling me thick?" Harry said incredulously, waving wildly at the wings. "You nearly fucked up all your muscles all because you couldn't be arsed to move your mouth and say something to me!"

"I didn't want you to say yes out of some goddamn pity, Potter!" Draco snarled; his eyes flashing a pure silver now. Talons briefly flickered into view before he forced them back. "And that's exactly what you would have done after you found out that my Veela side is acting out because I don't have a lover!"

Harry opened his mouth to keep arguing, before he paused and realised how ridiculous they were acting now. They had basically confessed to each other and instead of agreeing on a date, they were arguing about why Draco hadn't said something sooner!

That realisation had him grinning, making Draco squint at him suspiciously. "Why the hell are you grinning, Potter?" he demanded to know.

"Just how stupid we're both being now," Harry chuckled and walked around the table so he could stand in front of Draco.

The Veela followed his short trek around the table, a confused cooing noise escaping him when Harry rested his hands lightly on his thighs.

"I mean, we both basically confessed that we're interested in each other and instead of doing something with that, we're fighting about how stupid you were," Harry said, smiling when silver grey eyes narrowed.

"I'm not stupid! Forgive me for not wanting to - "

"So how about this? You and I go on a date tomorrow and you can show me how thoughtful you really are," Harry interrupted him before he could work up steam to start another argument.

Draco blinked, clearly taken aback. Insecurity briefly crossed his face and he asked, "You mean it?"

"Wouldn't waste my time here if I didn't mean it," Harry assured him, leaning a bit closer.

"Well, in that case, expect to be thoroughly wooed, Harry," Draco smirked; silver grey eyes positively gleaming now as hands came to rest on Harry's hips, urging him closer between Draco's legs.

"Sounds like a wonderful plan," Harry murmured and their mouths met in a soft kiss.

Large white wings wrapped around him, cocooning him as Draco crooned softly, pressing feather light kisses on his cheeks, his nose, his eyelids even before capturing his mouth in another soft kiss.

For the first time in years Harry was looking forward to what Valentine's Day would bring him.

* * *

(The day brought him a very thoughtful Veela, a very nice dinner and an amazing evening with the Veela in question.

He also ended up losing a client that day, but that was okay. Because he could still give his ex-client massages – in the private setting of their home. And if those massages sometimes turned into something else … Well, that was neither here nor there.)

**The End**

* * *

**AN2: I hope this was a suitable last part to the story!**

**Please leave your thoughts behind in a review; should you spot any mistakes, please point them out to me.**

**I hope to see you all back in my future stories!**

**Cuddles**

**Melissa**

**P.S. For more information about my upcoming and posted stories, please visit my profile.**


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